The Reason Why
by Thermopyle
Summary: A very short explanation for something that has puzzled us from the very beginning.


Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me.  
  
The Reason Why  
By Thermopyle (thermopyle@tds.net)  
Thermople.anifics.com/index.html  
  
######  
  
He walked down the street, listening with glee to the clicking noises  
that sounded with each step he took upon the cobbled road. He was  
careful to keep his expression neutral, or at least make himself appear  
nervous, as the few others who were present seemed to be. It was  
difficult. There wasn't anything really noteworthy about the way he  
walked or what it sounded like when his feet hit the ground. It was the  
most ordinary thing in the world. What was amazing, however, was the  
fact that he could hear each impact, in this unlikely place, and he  
could do so easily. There wasn't much to mask the sound, really.  
  
Diagon Alley wasn't silent, to be sure, but the few people who were  
talking outside and in the open were doing so quietly, in whispers.  
Most who had reason to be out today hurried indoors to whatever shop  
they required goods from, trying to keep themselves in as little danger  
as possible. Those who did have reason to be out looked around almost  
frantically, like mice scurrying about for a peace of cheese while  
absolutely certain that a large cat stood waiting behind a nearby  
corner, ready to pounce and devour them.  
  
Everybody was afraid, desperately so, and he loved it.  
  
He had no reason to be out today, there was no errand for him to run.  
He wasn't sightseeing or out for a casual stroll; he hated Diagon Alley  
and felt nothing but contempt for most of the people who frequented it.  
There was always children running about making screeching noises and  
playing with various magical trinkets that no self-respecting wizard  
would waste time on, grown-up kids who wasted their time buying  
disgusting Muggle-made items and fawning over how incredible they were,  
groups of men huddled around broom shops and arguing over which  
Quidditch team was the best while they ignored their wives exasperated  
insistences that it was time to go home. . .  
  
But none of that today. No, not anymore.  
  
Today those few people who were outside kept themselves in close,  
defensive groups, and talked of a different subject: Lord Voldemort.  
Their voices were quiet, filled with urgency as they demanded to know if  
there was news, if anybody else had been taken, had the Dark Mark been  
seen?, and, as they looked at each other nervously, eyeing people who  
had been friends since childhood, the silent, unvoiced question was: are  
you a Death Eater?  
  
Everything was different, and it was all because of one man. One man  
who was feared all throughout the wizardling world. One man who-  
  
A sudden bang sounded, and a shriek filled the air. Everybody stopped  
talking and whirled about in alarm, hands grabbing at wands to ready a  
defensive spell. Even him.  
  
Two people, a man and a woman whose identity he knew, stepped out of a  
nearby shop, and without even glancing about or seeming to notice all of  
the stares they were receiving, turned and walked away from him and up  
the street. A baby, the one who was making that damnably annoying  
noise, was strapped to the woman's back, trying to yank at the wisps of  
red hair that hung just out of reach. Its mouth was stretched in a  
happy smile, legs stomping up and down, arms waving in the air  
desperately as it tried to grab the nearby prize.  
  
The whispers changed, and everybody looked around in embarrassment,  
putting their wands away and laughing at their shared actions.  
Conversation resumed, this time at normal volumes, and people were  
relaxed, the temporary scare causing them to think the danger was  
passed.  
  
He stared with hate-filled eyes at the retreating infant, but did  
nothing. Apparation was impossible in Diagon Alley and alone he had no  
chance of escape if his identity was revealed; if he did anything about  
that, that brat. But he would get his revenge, that was for certain.  
  
The baby stopped its motions and looked back at him, its green eyes  
showing nothing but happiness, and it startled to giggle cheerfully and  
wave, as if it was saying hello, like it wanted to PLAY with him. . .  
  
Tom Riddle gave the baby one last glare, then turned and headed for the  
nearest exit. It was time to get back to work and he had a new family  
to add to the list.  
  
The Potters. 


End file.
